


The Case of the Confounding Chemist

by get_skittled



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, AvaLance, F/F, Mystery, Sherlock Holmes AU, also super gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-04-29 03:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14464215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/get_skittled/pseuds/get_skittled
Summary: Sara Lance and Dr. Sharpe face their greatest challenge in... The Case of the Confounding Chemist!Or the Sherlock Holmes AU nobody asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

A grey and languid fog darkened the streets of London on that dreary morning in the year of our Lord 1889, as my dear companion Sara Lance and myself sat in quiet contemplation within the warm and dry sanctuary of our Baker Street headquarters. Our breakfast only recently completed and the dishes yet to be cleared away by our erstwhile housekeeper, Mrs. Cory, we sat on either side of a cherry fire, each engrossed in a personal pastime; I, devotedly reading up on the latest innovations in the practice of medicine (my own field), while Lance attempted to keep amused the ravenous mind with which she was burdened. The violin having recently fallen out of favor in her eyes and with no sufficiently intriguing casework to keep the crushing ennui from her soul, she had in recent days turned to painting, finding as great a skill with the brush as she did with the bow. And yet, as all of London knew, nothing compared to her skill with a magnifying glass.

 

The silence of our comradeship that morning was not, however, destined to last, as the great detective brought the bottom of her brush to her lips, clearly, to one who knew her habits, diverting from her task into more abstract thought.

 

"I must say, Sharpe," she uttered, at last, "I did not think it possible."

 

"What's that, Lance?" I returned, hoping that the breathless anticipation in my heart was not betrayed in my voice.

 

"I have often shared my distain for your excessively florid accounts of our adventures that you insist on publishing to an absent-minded populace."

 

"Once or twice, yes," I replied, a small, wry smile adorning my lips.

 

"Well, in contrast to all reason I have actually conjured cause to detest these stories of yours to an even greater degree."

 

"Oh, do tell, Lance," I ejaculated, rising in my seat. My friend was, at once, the most brilliant and insufferable of all possible partners, and yet there is no fitting word to describe the feeling of having such an extraordinary mind as hers focused completely on one's own person, whatever the reason. As always, the experience was extremely... stimulating.

 

"You see, Sharpe," she continued as if lecturing to a class of schoolchildren, "Your close documentation of our cases, however exaggerated and sensationalized, has led to a record kept of my own thoughts and statements of any particular moment. Therefore, if these statements are ever reconsidered and proven false, there is proof that I once said them, forever entombed in the annals of history."

 

I rose a bit further, a look of surprise washing over my face. "And you admit such a thing is possible?"

 

Lance looked at me with a beneficent smile, cocking an eyebrow rakishly. The stimulation previously alluded to in this tale began to reach a fever pitch at this juncture.

 

"Why, of course! No woman is infallible! You will recall, in the case which you insisted on titling 'A Study In Purple,' I professed with some confidence that hope was a fools' occupation, reserved only for those simple-minded enough to be taken in by such an obvious carnival trick. And yet," she paused in her pacing, waving the dripping brush in her hand, "in recent days I have been given reason to dismiss this particular dictum."

 

I stared at my friend, the shock on my face impossible to hide.

 

"You astonish me, Lance! Tell me, what has lead you to reconsider your previously cynical view of hope?"

 

"Why, you have, my dear doctor."

 

The softness of her reply and the sweetness of her smile did, I must admit, shake me in an essential manner to my core. I have certainly never outwardly shared my feelings of desire and love for my partner and friend, feelings which have, at times, threatened to swallow me whole in their overwhelming potency. Yet this small sign of kindness left me teetering on the edge, barely resisting the urge to embrace Sara Lance in a passion.

 

"Is that... so?" I managed these words with no small amount of difficulty, a testament to the steady nerves of a medical woman.

 

"Indeed. If one such as you, a woman who in the earliest days of our acquaintance showed absolutely no sign of deductive ability or imagination, may rise to the dizzying heights of investigative adequacy at which you currently reside..." She raised her hands in wonder "... then it seems that no hope is too great!"

 

In spite of myself, I could not help but smile at my old friend. A roundabout recognition such as this, drenched as it was in condescension and diminishing to the point of offence, was often the nearest one might come to a compliment from Sara Lance. I recognized her sincere, if failing, effort at kindness and my heart was lifted.

 

The jangle of the bell at our door quickly diverted both of our attentions, as did the frantic footsteps that followed. Clearly the venerable Mrs. Cory had been bypassed by our guest, one who must have been in an unusual state of urgency as they climbed the stairs to our sitting room.

 

Lance listened for a moment to the ascending stomps before smiling and sitting back down in her chair, affecting a serene air.

 

"I say, Sharpe, have you any taste for pie this morning?"

 

I shook my head, confused. "What an odd question, Lance."

 

"I only ask because I believe that we are about to be besieged by an excess amount of..."

 

At that moment I turned as our sitting room door was burst open in a manner most forceful by a rightly dressed officer of the law, and one with whom we had more than a passing bit of history.

 

"Huckleberry!" Lance grinned gleefully as she finished her sentence pointedly upon our friends’ entrance. The good Inspectors’ exuberance cut off, he turned to me with a sullen, appellant face.

 

"An' when d'ya think she might start callin' me by my right name, doctor?"

 

"Oh, I should think that she will tomorrow, Inspector Palmer," I chuckled, "as is the case each and every day." 

 

Straightening his hat, the Scotland Yard official turned once again to my brilliant associate, his agitated manner once again returned.

 

"Ms. Lance, there's been a robbery!"

 

Lance, her thin fingers pressed together at the tips, considered only the fire.

 

"Mmm, there usually is, isn't there? I have no doubt your constabulary have the brainpower between them to light the way."

 

"Aye, mum, but this one's a bit more... peculiar."

 

Lances’ eyes made the most subtle adjustment at the word.

 

"Peculiar?" I asked myself, intrigued, "In what way, Palmer?"

 

"Well," the lawman continued, "the target was a laboratory in Knightsbridge. Some sort of chemists working there, experiments and the like..."

 

"Yes," Lance offered absently as she gestured to the portion of our sitting room devoted to her own chemical investigations, teeming as it was with odd mixtures and glass containers of all sizes. "I am somewhat familiar with the concepts, my dear Inspector. Certainly this point is not the exceptional portion of your tale?"

 

"No, mum," Palmer stumbled, his face flush. "The exceptional portion is what was stolen. Or rather… what wasn’t."

 

At last, her curiosity finally provoked to the edge of reason, Sara Lance turned in her chair to face the young inspector, her eyes narrow and her fingers still connected at their tips.

 

"Continue," she commanded, closing her eyes in a deep concentration.

 

Inspector Palmer, at this provocation, took a seat opposite my friend and myself. I sat forward, arms resting upon my knees in interest, while Lance seemed to all the world a woman in the very depths of a deep slumber. Only those such as myself and Palmer knew her well enough to know that this was, indeed, her most intense state of focus and attention.

 

“Last night, ‘round half past eleven, several bystanders witnessed a window being broken in the back alley behind the laboratory. They—“

 

“What reason did the witnesses give for their presence in the alley?” Lance moved only her soft, supple lips as she spoke.

 

“They’d just left the pub across the road, or so they’ve said. They were taking a shortcut home. We checked the route and that sounded right enough.”

 

“Very good, Palmer. We’ll make a detective of you, yet.” Lance opened one eye to me at this, a hint of a smile curling on her mouth. I could not stifle a small laugh.

 

“In any case,” Palmer continued, “They summoned an officer immediately, but in their state after the pub it took them more’n a few minutes to remember where the break-in had happened. By the time they arrived the head of the laboratory, Dr. Smackle, said that the thief had been and gone.”

 

“Did the doctor see this villain?” I asked.

 

“No, mum, but she did make an inventory of the burgled room, a small laboratory, immediately after he escaped. She says that nothing was taken at all.”

 

Lance’ eyes opened at this, turning to Palmer.

 

“Nothing, you say?”

 

Friar shook his head, as if attempting to assemble the facts of this case into some semblance of order.

 

“That’s what the doctor said, Ms. Lance. She even tried to hurry us out of her lab, claiming it was all just vandalism and no need for the police at all.”

 

“Well, that does sound reasonable,” I offered.

 

“And yet, here the Inspector is. I assume there is one last bit of information withheld from this account, designed to heighten our anticipation.”

 

Palmer smiled sheepishly. “Can’t put anything past you, Lance.”

 

“Few can,” my friend humbly replied. “Allow me to guess: This particular laboratory has been investigated by Scotland Yard before, on reports of potentially dangerous experiments being conducted within.”

 

“Just so, mum. I covered the case m’self. There weren’t no evidence of foul play, but our expert did say that many of the chemicals and compounds in the lab could’ve been used to make explosives.”

 

“Explosives?” I startled. “Good lord!”

 

“Naturally, we can’t just assume that nothing was stolen from a location with such a suspicious and possibly dangerous history, but we’re at a loss for how to proceed. Dr. Smackle insists that nothing was taken and while she might well be lying to protect herself, we have no way of disproving her claim.”

 

There was silence for an eternal moment as the great lady sat stock still in her chair, fingers laced at her mouth, her piercing blue eyes reflecting the flickering red of the fire. Finally, she spoke.

 

“What was the temperature of the burgled room, Inspector?”

 

Palmer and I, bewildered to say the least, looked at each other in response to Lances’ extraordinary question.

 

“Why… warm enough, I suppose? With all the weather we’ve been having, I—“

 

“The exact temperature, Palmer. In degrees.”

 

Palmer seemed exasperated, shrugging his shoulders in frustration.

 

“I-I haven’t the foggiest, Lance! How in blazes was I supposed to—“

 

“You weren’t,” Lance offered as she rose, crossing the room for her hat and coat. “Merely confirming a suspicion. One can seem so sure of things in the moment, but the curse of an active mind is that new and opposing theories are ever arising.” As she spoke, I recognized the fire ignited in the heart of my longtime companion. She strode with conviction, her tone level and firm, but with an unmistakable pulse of eager excitement underneath. I could not hide my lovesick smile as I watched her make her preparations.

 

“Doctor,” she offered, turning to me, “While your companionship and good strong arm are always invaluable on investigations such as this, I have some scruples about involving you in a case so obviously fraught with potential danger. Still, if your patient log will allow and your nerves are—“

 

“You needn’t utter another word,” I exclaimed, rising and grabbing my own coat and hat.

 

“Excellent! Well done, old girl. Come then, Palmer, there can be no delay in a matter of this urgency. I assume you have a cab waiting.”

 

“Just downstairs,” Palmer offered, excitedly.

 

“Off to Knightsbridge, then. The game is afoot!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ha! I made a mistake in the first chapter. I accidentally put Dr. Smakle instead of Zari, so sorry! But hopefully you enjoy this chapter!

The rhythmic clatter of hooves upon uneven cobblestones accompanied my companion, Sara Lance, and myself as we rushed to Knightsbridge with all speed. The expediency of our trip had been of the utmost import to the great detective, but any further probing into the details of our mission was met with a stony silence, typical of Lance as she delved deeply into a complex problem. The subtle changes to her stoic expression told the tale of the journey through her own web of logic and postulation, theories and hypotheses emerging and receding at a breakneck pace, narrowing the pathway to truth. It was a truly wondrous sight, and one that I, as always, felt most privileged to observe.

Before I knew it, we had arrived at the laboratory of Dr. Zari Tomaz, the location of the previous evening’s burglary. Lance emerged first, outpacing Inspector Palmer's chivalrous attempt to open the carriage door. I smiled and accepted his hand down to the street as he shook his befuddled head in an effort to catch up.

“Ah, mum…” he called as Lance strode, excitedly, toward the entrance, “The window is on this side’a the building. Don’t you wanna examine the exterior?”

“No need,” the great lady called over her shoulder with a dismissive wave. “I already know what I am looking for.”

Palmer and I shared a furrowed brow and an acquiescent shrug as we hurried to follow Lance to the crime scene.

To call the facility merely a laboratory seemed a disservice, as the building actually seemed to be a honeycomb of scientific endeavor. We strode through a long hallway, each door we passed opening into a different open space filled with Bunsen burners, beakers and bewildering concoctions. Upon the walls of each were large chalkboards, covered in chemical formulae far beyond my own specialized education.

As we traveled, although swept in a most extraordinary state of urgency, Lance made a point to poke her head into each room, door open or closed, often eliciting a sharp exclamation from the already nettled chemists working within. After a brief swing of her buoyant golden locks she returned to her swift stride, finally slowing as she approached a room at the end of the hall with two straight-laced constables standing watch. Palmer streaked past Lance as my friend made one final stop, this one more lingering, into the room next to the burgled lab. She turned her head back, a wry smile on her face, motioning for me to join her in the doorway.

“Come, Sharpe…” she gestured, her excitement barely restrained, “Observe this room, and try to retain as many details as possible.”

I raised an eyebrow at my partner’s cryptic attempts to improve my deductive abilities through instruction, turning my head to examine the room. It seemed much like the others, filled with glass and chemical mixtures. Heating implements stood at the ready, while shelves of various containers lined the back wall. Next to the window was a chalkboard, again covered in markings most alien to me, with a mercury thermometer hanging in the corner above.

“I must confess, Lance, I note nothing out of the ordinary in this laboratory. It seems a truly unremarkable location for the practice of the chemical arts.”

With this, Sara Lance let out a sharp laugh, clapping first her hands and then myself on the back.

“Excellent, my dear Sharpe, truly excellent! Your skills improve by the minute, before my very eyes!” I made no attempt to hide the blush brought on by this exuberant praise. “You are indeed correct in your observation! Now…”

She moved quickly to the entrance of the burgled lab, pulling my own interest and wonder in her wake, as always.

“… let us recall this information as we inspect the crime scene.”

I did as I was asked, entering the much smaller laboratory. It seemed not altogether different from the previous room. Beakers and bunsens still occupied tables about the space, although in lower volume than the other laboratories. Additionally, there seemed to be a dearth of chemical components on the shelves against the walls, which were occupied in much greater number by academic texts from nearly every discipline imaginable. Upon the wall was, as before, a large chalkboard, bearing calculations and equations once again of little meaning to a novice student of chemistry such as myself.

Only two other differences than those mentioned leapt out at me in that first moment; there was a large window broken inward toward the back of the room, and this laboratory was occupied by what appeared to be a most impatient and perturbed woman in a white coat.

“Inspector, I really must protest!” The scientist exclaimed. “I was quite clear that I wanted no further police presence in my laboratory! This is clearly a matter of youthful vandalism and of no further interest to Scotland Yard!”

“I understand your frustration, Dr. Tomaz,” Palmer said calmly, attempting to pacify the diminutive chemist, “But we must take every precaution. And ‘sides, these aren’t police, per say. Allow me to introduce Sara Lance, a consulting detective working with the Yard.”

Lance, a plastered smile on her face, finished her casual perusal of the room to extend her hand to the woman.

“Truly a pleasure, doctor,” she said, cutting off the beginning of a further protest with a vigorous handshake. “I assure you, this will be the final inconvenience for you today, and it will be quite a short one, indeed. May I present my colleague, Dr. Sharpe.”

I approached the doctor, my own hand outstretched.

“Good morning, doctor,” I chirped. “Always nice to meet a fellow woman of science.”

The doctor raised a contemptuous eyebrow from behind her glasses.

“Yes, I’m sure it must be,” she hissed, ignoring my gesture and proceeding to follow Lance anxiously as she examined the chalkboard.

The great detective stood there, utterly entranced, and although she seemed to show no outward sign of emotion I, who knew her actions so well, could practically feel the heat of eager delight exuding from her person. My friend seemed to feel that this was a rare problem, and one well worthy of her steel.

After another moment unmoved, Hunter’s inaction caused Dr. Tomaz to emit a heat of her own, first directed in furious stares at poor Palmer, then back to the lady herself.

“Ms. Lance, if we could move this along!” She finally exclaimed, most outraged. “I have a great deal of work to do, and this ‘investigation’ has been an incredible disturbance to--!”

“And disturb you further we shan’t,” Lance coolly replied, cutting the raving woman off with a sweet, syrupy tone. “Allow me to apologize on behalf of Scotland Yard for their inept mishandling of such an obvious situation.”

“’ey now, ‘ang on a moment—“Palmer blurted out before a small, pale hand quickly covered his mouth.

“You see the results of hiring farm hands as inspectors. I’m afraid, my dear Palmer, that this poor woman has been correct from the off. A brief examination of this space has convinced me utterly that this is a simple case of a childish prank gone overboard, and not a burglary at all.”

Palmer's eyes matched my own in utter shock, while the doctor seemed to straighten up as she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well… at last, a level head. I said that nothing was taken when they first arrived, but they simply would not listen!”

“The constant braying of work mules has greatly eroded his sense of hearing,” Palmer said, patting our friend’s increasingly red face. “Some days a simple ‘ha-hurr’ is all that we can get out of him.” She turned politely to our host again.

“We shall take our leave presently,” she offered, bowing slightly before moving toward the door. At the threshold, however, she snapped her fingers and stopped.

“Oh, one last trifle, if you will indulge me,” Sara Lance purred, startling the rather anxious chemist.

“Go on…” Tomaz nodded.

“Is this particular laboratory yours?”

“Y-yes, of course. I use it for some of my most intricate experiments.”

Sara smiled wider and nodded.

“I thought as much. Then you would certainly be the party to inform that one of your equations is incorrect.” Lance gestured toward the chalkboard, and the miasma of numbers and symbols emblazoned upon it. Tomaz turned, a look of genuine bewilderment on her face.

“N-no, that’s… not possible…” she sputtered.

“Ha! No need to be embarrassed, old girl,” Lance chuckled cordially, “Every scientist makes a mistake here and there… though I must confess, that one is quite glaring. I daresay that is shatters the integrity of the entire hypothesis as presented... But, ah well!” She tossed her hands casually. “I shall leave it to you to correct it, as I’m sure finding it will present little difficulty to such a brilliant mind. Good day!”

The three of us were outside of the building, nearing the cab, before Palmer burst with anger.

“Now see ‘ere, Lance! I didn’t bring you in on this investigation just to be made a fool of! Sure’n I made a mistake, but there was no need for all that!”

“I must agree, Lance,” I offered, the stern tone of a governess behind my words. “Your behavior was inexcusable. To torment poor Palmer like that, simply because there was no case to be found—“

“No case, you say?” Lance turned with a wicked smile to interrupt me. The fire in her eyes stopped all thought from racing through my mind, forcing all of my cognitive efforts into the act of continuing to draw breath. “Am I to assume that I must continue the investigation on my own, then?”

All indignation fled from the faces of Palmer and myself at this question.

“Investigation?” Palmer was at an utter loss. “B-but, you said that there weren’t no—“

“Oh, make no mistake, Inspector… quite a serious crime has been committed here…” Lance spoke with a dire tone, her fingers stroking her soft chin. “Likely more than one, but none that you have yet imagined. My friends, we dance now with a most dangerous and cunning adversary… I only hope that the trap I have laid may spring right to catch him!”


	3. Chapter 3

Upon our return to Baker Street, Lance and I found that the table in our sitting room had been laid out with a sumptuous lunch, courtesy, no doubt, of the inimitable Mrs. Cory. Yet Lance, quite in contradiction to her normal behavior, professed having no time for food or drink, instead rushing off to her quarters. Of course, in an effort to avoid insult to our hard working housekeeper, I tucked in and began to eat, enjoying a hot cup of tea as I did so.

Two cups into my repast and I began to grow quite curious as to my companion’s activities. I knocked upon her door, only to be met with no response. Taking the liberty to enter, I discovered Lance completely absent, having exited, as she often did, through her window onto the adjoining rooftop.

Frustrated by my exclusion from our current adventure, I took it upon myself to attempt at familiarizing myself with the more complex tenants of the world of chemistry, diving deeply into several of Lance's many tomes on the subject. As I did so, I found my mind wandering to the many times that she had surely leafed through the very pages that I now touched, her delicate fingers caressing the paper in search of an elusive passage, her breath catching at a particularly illuminating formula. I confess that my time was not as efficient nor as productive as it could have been, as I found myself in a state of reverie simply imagining the light touch of my dearest friend.

It was during this reverie that a short, stocky man with a bushy white mustache burst into our sitting room as bold as brass. Upon spying me he smiled, tipping his hat and dancing as merry a little jig as his frame would allow.

“Well now, as I live and breathe!” He exclaimed through labored breath, “If it ain’t me ol’ sweetheart Ava! ‘ey there, give us a kiss, luv!”

He moved in to claim the affection he desired, only to be met by the firm application of the inside of my own open hand. He was staggered by the blow, pulling back sheepishly.

“You, sir, are wildly mistaken,” I professed, straightening to my full height. “I know not who you are, and if I did besides, my heart belongs to another!”

It was here that the man stopped, straightening up himself with a new and wildly different posture.

“Oh, does it, now?” spoke a voice much higher and sweeter than the one previously speaking. Before I could place its familiarity, the man peeled off his mustache to reveal the face of my beloved Sara Lance.

“Lance!” I ejaculated. “But… oh, your disguise was brilliant! I had no idea—“ I cut myself off, remembering my behavior a moment ago. “Oh, my dear Lance, I am so sorry for—“

“Nonsense, nonsense!” Lance laughed boisterously as she removed the other elements of her disguise, revealing the petite woman of my affection. “A formidable blow, and a response to be proud of! Brigands such as my counterpart seem to run rampant in London these days, and your retort to his advances was the only appropriate measure!”

We sat, the two of us, near the fire in our accustomed seats. Lance reclined in comfort, lighting her pipe with casual ease, while I perched on the edge of my seat, impatient for answers.

“You have a grand gift of silence, Sharpe. It makes you invaluable as a companion,” she finally uttered after a long moment in that tense state.

“Well you certainly haven’t made such restraint easy…” I uttered, eager anticipation shaking my voice.

“Then I shall reward you with a full accounting of the past two and one half hours: I left our headquarters in disguise, of course, leaping to our neighbor’s roof so as to avoid connection between my alter-ego and myself.”

“But why leave me behind, Lance?” I asked with some incredulity.

“An unwelcome necessity, I assure you, dear Sharpe. Were it left to my will you would be ever at my side.”

The rush of warmth to my cheeks and the tingle of my skin could have, by a less honest woman, been easily attributed to the cherry fire before us.

“But to continue. I made my way to upper Swandom Lane, and a disreputable little establishment of my familiarity called the Bar of Gold. Within, I found the object of my search, a charming rapscallion by the name of Babineaux. This man deals in confidence schemes, fraud of all kinds, but most importantly specialized robbery. He has been known to pilfer items of great value from locations where no common citizen would expect such treasures to reside.”

“You know this, and yet this man walks free?” I asked, slightly scandalized. Lance smirked in response.

“I am not the police, doctor, nor am I beholden to act upon every letter of the law. Young Babineaux causes little harm with his activities and is occasionally of great use in my investigations, as he has proven to be today.”

With that, Lance pulled a small, leather bound book from her coat, presenting it as a grand prize. I was confused for only a moment before realization overtook me.

“Dr. Tomaz's laboratory! Are you suggesting that it was this book that was stolen last night?”

“There can be no doubt. Four pipes into our conversation at the bar he was all too happy to boast of last night’s activities, and I quickly took it upon myself to liberate this little prize from his person. For his own protection, if nothing else…”

“Protection?” I repeated, confused. “I’m not sure I follow, Lance.”

“Then let me guide you further down the path, old friend. Look in the book and tell me what you can deduce from it.”

I opened the well-worn binding to find a journal, used by a scientist of great knowledge and skill. Inside were many formulae and equations, all beyond my understanding and yet, familiarly so…

“It must be Dr. Lance notes on some experiment or creation.” I paused a moment as I reached a later page, squinting my eyes slightly as Lance leaned forward in great anticipation.

“Hang on… there seem to be two sets of handwriting here… one overlayed atop the other.”

“HA!” Lance exclaimed, jumping from her seat. “You see, Sharpe? It is as I said! No hope is too great! You have hit upon the very heart of this clue’s value!”

“But what does it mean, Sara?”

“To simplify,” Lance explained as she regained her seat, “This journal represents a collaboration between two brilliant minds, each a master of their field. One, a chemist, has outlined a new formula for a most potent explosive compound…”

“Dear lord!” I burst forth. “Then, Palmer's suspicions were correct!”

“Indeed! Quite dangerous, but all the more so when combined with the mathematical calculations provided by the second expert, allowing for maximum yield and the precise application of the formula necessary to create deadly weapons of destruction!”

I shuddered at the thought. The image of a burning London took hold of my mind.

“We must stop Dr. Tomaz! If this formula were released to the criminal underworld…”

“As it nearly was today,” Lance replied. “Luckily, for all his charms, dear Babineaux lacks the ability to interpret such a text as this one. It is safely in the hands of law and order, ready to be used in a trap to catch Dr.Tomaz red-handed.”

“Then this… this was the trap you spoke of earlier today?” I was positively vibrating with excitement.

“Oh no, Sharpe. The trap for Tomaz is simple enough that we may leave it in the hands of Palmer and his men. We have a much deadlier game to play.”

I frowned, confusion and worry overtaking my expression. Hunter continued.

“Recall the state of the laboratory that was robbed last night. What distinguished that room from the neighboring facilities?”

I pressed my mind to recall every detail of the rooms that we investigated, unable to find purchase on the elusive answer. Hunter, her eyes soft with compassion and, dared I to dream, affection, took pity on me and continued.

“Consider my first question to Palmer this morning upon learning of this case…”

“Yes, your extraordinary inquiry into the temperature.”

“Precisely. Chemical laboratories, particularly ones that deal in volatile compounds, must be monitored closely for variations in temperature. Performing the wrong experiment under the wrong conditions could be disastrous.”

It was then that my mind was illuminated, and the answer sprung forth.

“The burgled room! It had no thermometer!”

“Elementary, my dear Sharpe! An expert such as Tomaz would never perform what she described as ‘intricate experiments’ in a laboratory without one! Therefore, we must conclude…”

“The room was not a laboratory! She merely disguised it as one after the robbery!”

“Very nearly, my dear. It WAS a laboratory, but not for chemistry. The equations on the chalkboard were purely mathematical, not chemical formulae. That laboratory housed a master of mathematics. Now…”

Lance's voice grew quiet and serious as she leaned forward.

“What reason could a criminal doctor have to prevent the police from learning that she was collaborating closely with an expert in the field of mathematics?”

A chill ran down my spine as one name burst into my mind.

“Lance… surely it couldn’t be…”

“Now you see where the danger in this case truly lies, doctor. And if London is to remain safe from such evil, you and I must take this danger unto ourselves.” She rose from her chair, a serious expression worn and yet, eager excitement burst forth from the edges.

“Your hat and coat, good doctor, and don’t neglect your revolver. Tonight, my trap is sprung!”

**Author's Note:**

> How did you like it? I'm planning to post another tomorrow since I have free time, or maybe another today! Comment and Kudos are very well appreciated!  
> Come and like talk to me or request prompts on @grey-arsenal


End file.
